Tillman put the cart ahead of the horse so well, actually, that he just about became a parody of himself, letting the caricatures on his debut Fear Fun become more powerful than Josh Tillman. Father John Misty preaching psychedelic messages. Compounding the myth with lyrics that didn’t really achieve honesty. “I’m Writing a Novel” was hilarious and self-loathing and was rooted in the tale of how he found his new creative voice, but at the end of the day it was an effacing proclamation of being a writer when he hadn’t written any fiction yet. And “Only Son of the Ladies’ Man?” The dude builds a chorus around a “I’m a leading brand of a one night stand.”

I Love You, Honeybear is different. Fear Fun was acerbic, and again, entertaining, but it did not arrive at truths about Josh Tillman. And maybe that was never his intention at all. And maybe that’s not even his intention on I Love You, Honeybear. But since falling in love and getting married, and framing a narrative arc around that, the eleven songs on here are about as close to the real Josh Tillman we’re ever going to see. And in the process of writing songs about that love, and brilliantly sending up all the social constructs in this shitshow of a society that are up against it, including erotic asphyxiating younger versions of Josh Tillman pleading for President Jesus to save him, it’s impossible to not learn something about yourself in tandem. Meanwhile, “Innocence by Misty” is out of production.

Fun with bodily fluid bedsheet Rorschach metaphors as Tillman opens his triumphant second act as Father John Misty, making sure to set the stage to play homage to the one thing that’s allowed him to rise above this shit-show called society, that he so hilariously and acerbically sends up: Love: [LISTEN]

A wee segue from the sweet pop sendups that dominate elsewhere, Tillman dives completely into love here, cutting himself in bits for comic relief — celibacy, so “bourgeoisie” — but otherwise breaking out the mariachi vibes in full serenade mode to his wife, from virgin to LA matrimony fruition: [LISTEN]

Phone machines, the cause of and solution to all of our intimacy woes. If Tillman would have gone his normal acoustic troubadour verite the way of sonics here, it would be a throw-away, but with the synthetic drum and key cloth, sentiment and sarcasm explode with a refreshing color and strut: [LISTEN]

Because we wouldn’t know how great the ‘honeybear’ is, that is the record’s savior, without knowing all the soul-sucking ladies that led to Tillman’s true fit, here we see him show some teeth for a malaprop-spewing contradiction that “hoovers” all his drugs and begs to be choked. Dating is fun, kids: [LISTEN]

Perfectly placed after the hedonistic third-person apartment visit that ends in contemptuous erotic asphyxiation, the choir girls ascend as our protagonist steps down from his high horse and lulls into the humble truism that he is merely an “aimless fake drifter,” and that’s alright, because love: [LISTEN]

Why Tillman wanted to include this Bukowsi fuck-it-all version of himself objectifying women at a Silver Lake bar may seem quizzical, but with its Southern cobblestone strut and dark-side revelations, it only makes him appear that much more human and, thus, deserving of the mighty ‘honeybear’: [LISTEN]

Echoing his “aimless fake drifter” self-reflections earlier Tillman dabbles with a kind of final stretch rising conflict that tears back into another page from his darkest hour dating days, questioning his decency among prayers veiled as ‘swears’, while the guitars get crunchy and the howls noir: [LISTEN]

Last shake of Tillman’s completely inward skewerings of himself, cymbal and siren cacophony letting loose while every last bit of ‘awful’ the man could show is revealed, paired with a WikiLeaks neurosis of a metaphor in chase of forgiveness, redemption, it doesn’t matter. Up to love now: [LISTEN]

Laugh-track add confounds, but the melody move from guitar to keys compliments the folk torch song send-up of the absurdities of young American citizenship perfectly. As truthful a statement of upper-middle class white existence pervading a gentrifying ‘hood near you that isn’t a Portlandia sketch: [LISTEN]

Complimenting as a one-two falling action punch w/ the brilliant “Bored in the USA,” Tillman posits a series of confounding societal contradictions, pitting endless barometers of intelligence and happiness against the forever existential question of what the hell it all means for love and mankind: [LISTEN]

As best a dénouement ‘honeybear’ could have, Tillman, for the first time in the album reducing his sentiments to his simplest of singer-songwriter roots, spinning gold around the mundane act of going to the deli to get smokes, and the poetics of it turning into the most important moment of his life: [LISTEN]

]]>http://www.songlyrics.com/news/riffd-father-john-mistys-i-love-you-honeybear/feed/0Quarterbacks – ‘Quarterbacks’http://www.songlyrics.com/news/album-reviews/quarterbacks-quarterbacks/
http://www.songlyrics.com/news/album-reviews/quarterbacks-quarterbacks/#commentsTue, 10 Feb 2015 20:56:47 +0000http://www.songlyrics.com/news/?post_type=albumreviews&p=62614At 19 songs in 22 minutes, Quarterbacks’ self-titled album reads like two different time zones of a Stephin Merritt mixtape, in quick with the hook, on to the next punchline before you can wrap your head around the previous.

If you were to thread some guiding narratives through the upstate New Yorker’s first LP push here, portions reveal just another young millennial wandering through the jungles of attraction. Elsewhere we could have a severe ‘Missed Connections’ repeat offender on our hands that might need a push into a healthier reality, as heard on “Not in Luv:” [LISTEN]

My heart beats like/A bowling ball/That slowly turns/And rolls along

That song in particular bleeds early adolescence and the habit to mistake chronic schoolyard crush syndrome with gravity-defying, maddening love. The kind of ‘L-U-V’ you’d see scrawled in a spiral.

Comparatively, there are moments we hear singer/guitarist Dean Engle insert some sneaky moments of thoughtful deduction. In “Center,” despite any natural fight or flight instincts, our dude walks away from any gesture that is anything but grand and now must watch his connection with another short circuit, which could perhaps be only a result of his idleness: [LISTEN]

Because there’s such/Relief in coincidence/A universe that finally works/How you always suspected/With yourself near the center/As I get older/I recognize that love/Is mostly situational

Though such inaction may seem initially frustrating, “Point Nine” brings up another valid theme that is interwoven, albeit sloppily, throughout the entire album: Love, whatever that means, is situational.

Feelings can be reciprocated, fleeting, undeveloped or exhilarating and that’s the maddening umbrella-like characteristic of love, which is probably why people like to sing about it so much. It’s a one-stop shop, a buffet of feelings; you can stay forever or more like Dean’s speed, just a quick hello and a good cry into your pillow: [LISTEN]

Sometimes I wonder if I could slow down make sure my heart stays intact

The album contains songs that barely live beyond two minutes, reflecting the possible nature of Engle’s personal projections regarding the subject matter. Our day-to-day lives rarely feature perfectly orchestrated interactions, curated dialogues, or award nominations. That would make a person less tangible.

And in a century when so much of reality is questioned on the daily, it’s nice just to confront the world that lives only right in front of us. In fact, our experiences or relationships do in fact have points, no matter how dull they are. Or rather, another piece of Engle “Point Nine” minute-and-a-half wisdom:

I have no expectations for the future/The present’s too perfect for that

]]>http://www.songlyrics.com/news/album-reviews/quarterbacks-quarterbacks/feed/0Bob Dylan – ‘Shadows in the Night’http://www.songlyrics.com/news/album-reviews/bob-dylan-shadows-in-the-night/
http://www.songlyrics.com/news/album-reviews/bob-dylan-shadows-in-the-night/#commentsThu, 05 Feb 2015 18:13:49 +0000http://www.songlyrics.com/news/?post_type=albumreviews&p=62135For his 36th (!) album, Shadows in the Night, Bob Dylan decided on another full disc of covers. As he actually put it – “they’ve been covered enough. Buried, as a matter of fact. What [he’s] doing is uncovering them…bringing them into the light of day.”

Cutesy turn of phrase aside, this cover album of Frank Sinatra hits is well executed, but Dylan’s voice still seems somewhat out of place since he’s mimicking a crooner, a style so anti-him. On top of that, his voice is mixed quite high. Still, he reins in the Dylan-isms you see in impersonations, and he actually manages to sound more like a traditional pop singer here, more so than, say, his ill-fated Christmas catastrophe.

As for whether Dylan actually ‘unearths’ or dusts off these songs, I’ll use the track that was my original favorite as a template, “Autumn Leaves,” an old french tune adapted into English in the 40s that caught a bit of traction with versions by Édith Piafand Nat King Cole, Sinatra taking the reins on his 1957 effort, Where Are You?; [LISTEN].

Outside of the country guitars in the background, when Dylan starts singing, he sounds impressively similar to Sinatra, but he gets pitchy as the piece progresses. Again, it’s not very noticeable, and the tracks – all ballads – are arranged in a way where it doesn’t take away from the effect (like most of Dylan’s non-Yuletide recordings).

The “Autumn Leaves” seasons-changing allegory for the bittersweet end of a romance may also speak towards Dylan’s place in the artistic world. Even old-timey, classic rock and roll songs “weren’t serious” enough, unlike his preferred folk music, which featured “more despair, more sadness,” as he reflected in a 2006 interview. Add that to the scientifically proven decline of pop music and Dylan’s decades-long shift from political representative of the counter-culture into bureaucratic figurehead atop the corporation that is rock and roll, and the man has to feel a bit exhausted.

Since you went away the days grow long/And soon I’ll hear old winter’s song/But I miss you most of all my darling/When autumn leaves start to fall

But, “Why Try to Change [Him] Now?” The fact of the matter is he’s one of many legends with a nine-digit USD net worth who we allow to do whatever they want. Every song on here has been sung by somebody (most likely not Sinatra) who will never be topped. But, you can play them anywhere and offend absolutely no one. It’s basically a Christmas album for the first financial quarter of a dreary midwinter. And he definitely does a better job this go around, but sadly Shadows in the Night still amounts to a further burying of these songs with unnecessary re-makes.

Sleater-Kinney’s original run was before its time. Riot Grrrl’s peak came before the mighty internet, which may have diluted the egalitarian cause of feminism with Tumblr’s more common caricature of misandrist hypocrisy, but at least it also made feminism so shareably attractive that we use it as clickbait (right above thumbnails that promise female nudity or otherwise negate the message). In this viral-politics climate, 2015 is a great time for the band’s triumphant return, No Cities to Love – and all the socio-political and artistic grievances they air within. So go five of the ladies’ best-distilled statements.

Covering the American obsession with workaholism, consumerism, and straight-up greed, the exorbitant “price tag” mentioned likely refers to the price on our souls. As some internetters have posited, it may also refer to the cost of Dubya’s wars, or the current economy suffering at the hands of Baby Boomers and Wall Streeters. In any of those situations, the average American is the one footing the bill: [LISTEN]

Speaking of social justice causes, Tucker and Brownstein don’t want to be labeled. Especially if “no one here is taking notice.” They just want an honest connection to each other, fans, etc. They still want to make a real difference, but not as part of some movement – just as individuals that care: [LISTEN]

Gentrification ruins everything we love about the great cities of the world. As Brownstein put it, “Brooklyn has surpassed Portland” the way of Portlandia vibes, and that’s pretty much solely caused by the Williamsburg trust fund stereotype. This is how an entire city decides to become a basic bitch as a whole: [LISTEN]

The ladies of S-K, all north of 40, have accepted their new roles – “scramble[ing] eggs for little legs” – despite this resurgence of an album. While they may be ready to pass the torch, they are (rightfully) pissed at the lack of successors – be that punk rockers, true feminists with a backbone, or a combination between the two. Criticizing the new kids doesn’t necessarily make you an old fogey if those new kids are dropping the ball: [LISTEN]

Speaking of accepting the changing of the tides, some of it comes with an extra wrenching of the gut. S-K mourn the losses of their “friends” and “idols;” perhaps both figuratively as some of them have lost career relevance, and literally, as some may have left this planet through a variety of illnesses. Still, this serves as a comeback “anthem” for these women – apprehensive and nerve-wracking, they still refuse to be defined by others’ judgments. To boot, this might have the heaviest guitar grooves on the album: [LISTEN]

]]>http://www.songlyrics.com/news/listing-5-socio-political-frustrations-in-sleater-kinneys-no-cities-to-love/feed/0Panda Bear – ‘Panda Bear Meets the Grim Reaper’http://www.songlyrics.com/news/album-reviews/panda-bear-panda-bear-meets-the-grim-reaper/
http://www.songlyrics.com/news/album-reviews/panda-bear-panda-bear-meets-the-grim-reaper/#commentsMon, 12 Jan 2015 17:41:16 +0000http://www.songlyrics.com/news/?post_type=albumreviews&p=61304Animal Collective (or AC, from here on out) have had their breakout moment, their critics’ worship moment, their public saturation moment, and their inevitable backlash moment. Obviously, so has Panda Bear (PB) – so we know what to expect from him. His sound is well-defined. Through that lens, this album starts with maybe the best song ever to come out of his camp, and ends solidly as well. The middle is hit-and-miss, but the Panda Bear Meets the Grim Reaper still works.

That’s mostly because within that established AC/PB sound, Lennox brings more complete, satisfying songs to the table on this album. The aforementioned killer opener – “Sequential Circuits” – utilizes a Boards of Canadasort of chord progression to prop up an anti-consumerist, anti-conformist message typical of the Collective:

Get just what you need

Just what

Want more than you need

Want more

Dread follows that lead

Follow the lead

Then there’s “Tropic of Cancer,” which deals with the “dark” nature of vice-provoked cancer of a vice-related malignancies – “Got to like what kills” – and the loss it brings – “And you can’t get back/You won’t come back to it/You can’t come back to it.” It uses an arpeggiated harp that follows a similar opening chord structure to “Hallelujah,” which may seem like a token tactic for bringing beauty to a track but is unique for this setting.

Some lyrics that are used frequently include “dogs,” “brittle,” ‘bites,” and “tripping” (literal tripping – maybe). Sometimes Lennox uses bad grammar to further wig out the audience atop these jarring words, leaving the ability to parse the meaning even though it sounds like nonsense. Sometimes he goes more straightforward, covering regret (“Shadow of the Colossus“), the beast-within-who-can’t-have-nice-things dilemma (“Boys Latin“), and even a good old ‘U Mad Bro’ theme (“Come to Your Senses“). There’s straight-up thunder, some bitcrushed sound, and plenty of samples. His even voice starts to sound like Wavves’ Nathan Williams on “Butcher Baker Candlestick Maker.”

Sure, there’s also a decent amount of random samples thrown together in a form of production masturbation. This is particularly apparent on the instrumentals, but also on some of the mid-album duds.

How does this album compare to contemporaries outside AC? Maybe it’s a bit too repetitive. My first listen didn’t massively impress me, and I was ready for a lukewarm write-up, but it only took a second listen to lighten up. Of course the non-devout will likely skip it altogether, but they shouldn’t – this is definitely worth a listen even if you aren’t an AC/PB acolyte. Although it’s those who’ve left the flock who might be most tired of this sound.

]]>http://www.songlyrics.com/news/album-reviews/panda-bear-panda-bear-meets-the-grim-reaper/feed/0The Smashing Pumpkins – ‘Monuments to an Elegy’http://www.songlyrics.com/news/album-reviews/the-smashing-pumpkins-monuments-to-an-elegy/
http://www.songlyrics.com/news/album-reviews/the-smashing-pumpkins-monuments-to-an-elegy/#commentsWed, 10 Dec 2014 19:00:45 +0000http://www.songlyrics.com/news/?post_type=albumreviews&p=60362The Smashing Pumpkins‘Billy Corgan has been around for forever – with a career that spawned several legendary classics, and also veered into a slew of WTF moments. With all those highs and lows, we’ve all come to ignore just how nasal his voice sounds. This isn’t a cheap jab, but some voices work with certain types of music, and some don’t. Prince is arguably the most talented individual on the planet, but I don’t think he has the growl chops to front black metal, and you don’t want Tom Waits on the next “Gangnam Style.”

And that’s a shame, because the latter is still a great track – it’s the second best one here, right behind the galloping prog-rock opener “Tiberius” and just barely ahead of the semi-titular “Monuments.” Even “Run2Me” could be great with [insert-singer-with-indie-pop-cred] doing vocals, and maybe a few less power chords.

Sonically, that’s a bit of a problem, too. Once upon a time (in 1996), James Iha said “The future is in electronic music. It really seems boring just to play [conventional] rock music.” Since Iha’s departure, the return of Pumpkins music as we know it is just RAWK with too many synths. The last track on this album is a perfect example, except, without the synth. It’s a rock caricature, with some of the worst lyrics of the year to come from an artist we’ve all respected:

Never been kissed by a girl like you

Only one I wanna do/ove me baby, love me true

Ooh

Eventually, a frontman messiah complex (orholier-and-more-talented-than-thouattitude) will turn any band into a solo project. The Smashing Pumpkins released their best stuff when Iha, Wretzky, and Chamberlin had significant artistic input. No replacement set of Asian guitarists, white drummers, and female bassists could measure up to that core group. So, this album sounds like a great Corgan solo album, with solid session drumming by Tommy Lee. Corgan’s voice grates at times, and it’s far surpassed by the 90’s heyday of the group, but it might still beat Zwan.

]]>http://www.songlyrics.com/news/album-reviews/the-smashing-pumpkins-monuments-to-an-elegy/feed/0AC/DC – ‘Rock of Bust’http://www.songlyrics.com/news/album-reviews/acdc-rock-of-bust/
http://www.songlyrics.com/news/album-reviews/acdc-rock-of-bust/#commentsWed, 03 Dec 2014 17:25:43 +0000http://www.songlyrics.com/news/?post_type=albumreviews&p=60004Outside of the boys’ headline-grabbing current events – the highly rock-and-roll antics of meth possession and hitman-hiring, or the sadder, real-life issues of dementia – you know what you’re going to get with AC/DC. Namely, prototypical, blues-based classic rock on women, cars, amps turned up to 11, booze and smokes, and just about everything else cock rock.

Depending whom you ask, Back in Black is either the second, third, or fourth best-selling album of all time, so there’s really no need for them to release any new material – even if they want to tour until they drop dead. Nevertheless, Rock or Bust came out November 28, and it’s exactly what you’d expect.

These guys are the most ‘Merican Auzzies to ever leave down unda. If this wasn’t tailor-made for a beer commercial, I don’t know what is; [LISTEN] to “Play Ball:”

Some notable, very slight variations, in both music and lyrics come on “Dogs of War” and “Baptism by Fire.” The former goes just a touch metal while examining the plight of “soldiers of fortune” with “boots on the ground” imagery, and the latter goes for a faster-than-usual riff to spice up the old macho Vegas-“party” shtick.

There aren’t any timeless, classic riffs here, but it weirdly also doesn’t sound like they’re trying to get blood from the stone of rock-and-roll. Everything is still solid, which is admirable of a band with almost 20 albums under their belt in the same, narrow genre. Maybe it works because they know who they are – a guitar band – and it’s their religion – “in rock we trust, it’s rock or bust.” They believe in the Rock, the whole Rock, and nothing but the Rock, so help them Rock.

Whatever view you have of the quintessential just-rock band – adulation, irritation, apathy – will only be confirmed further on this album. What will change, is that AC/DC is probably getting their piece of the NFL pre-commercial bumper pie alongside Foo Fighters and USMNT’s Jack White, because nothing says stars’n’stripes more than a good power chord. Which, to be fair, isn’t always an automatic ‘home-run’ that we’ll all accept – just askScott Stapp.

All said, it does its job – like Thai food delivery. Maybe not the best (or best for you), but you know what you’re going to get. Thanks be to Rock.

]]>http://www.songlyrics.com/news/album-reviews/acdc-rock-of-bust/feed/0Ariel Pink – ‘pom pom’http://www.songlyrics.com/news/album-reviews/ariel-pink-pom-pom/
http://www.songlyrics.com/news/album-reviews/ariel-pink-pom-pom/#commentsWed, 19 Nov 2014 21:49:44 +0000http://www.songlyrics.com/news/?post_type=albumreviews&p=59720Ariel Pink’s infamy, once due to live-show tantrums, has lately centered around PR feuds withGrimes and Madonna. On a related side note, can we stop calling every piece of criticism a female singer receives bigoted misogyny? Sometimes your gender ambiguous music and lyrics just plain suck or beat a dead horse, and the “misogyny” defense is a copout.

Pink didn’t say, in his contentious interview with the Guardian, that ‘there’s a man pulling the strings behind every woman’ in the music industry, but rather, essentially, ‘there’s a corporation pulling the strings behind every major label dynasty pop act.’ Frankly, it’s much worse that he used “retarded” as an insult later.

Meanwhile his beef withEurythmics is dumb. For a synth sound that makes him “want to fucking commit suicide,” he sure plastered it all over the best parts of this album. Shit-talking’s great, not just for clickbait tabloid entertainment, but it’s also pop music’s few remaining forms of quality control. The hypocrisy stinks enough to signal more ironic trolling, more meta jokes.

He takes his chillwave through the three big decades of influences – 70’s acoustic drums, 80’s electronic drums, 60’s guitars, etc, a bit of prog here and a bit of pop there. He mocks the shallowness and sleaze of L.A. (“White Freckles”), goes for psychedelic children’s show vibes (“Dinosaur Carebears,” which runs a genre gauntlet), and combines the two in catchy opener “Plastic Raincoats in the Pig Parade:”

He warns of the monsters in the dark (“Four Shadows,” – one of the album’s best), mass-produced “indigestion”-provoking food (the intentionally nauseating “Jell-O”), and the (maybe present) day when we’ll need computers to see pictures of our deceased fathers – and possibly their passwords, too (“Picture Me Gone”). Despite the use of “selfie,” it’s the best of the bunch:

There’s also an earnestly modern “taco-truck” love story (“Put Your Number in My Phone”), a surf rock parody (“Nude Beach A Go-Go”), and a couple porno soundtracks complete with skits. Variety is a strong suit of Pink’s here, and this whole album is a bucket of interesting – kind of like newer MGMT.

And like newer MGMT, maybe it doesn’t always work. But it does sometimes – particularly on “Four Shadows,” “Picture Me Gone,” and “Put Your Number in My Phone.” Plus, even he’s not safe from his own skewering yuks, mocking his now infamous rep on “Negativ Ed:”

So take a chill pill, Grimes, Default Genders, et al. Hate his album – which has some great moments – if you must, but at least admit he’s trying new musical stuff out. And that’s always preferable to doing the same thing you’ve done for thirty years, while switching out envelope-pushing sex taboos for blatant, lazy drug references sloppily aimed at the stereotypical EDM fan. Plus, if you insult either Pink or his record, I doubt he’ll cry “bigot.”

TV on the Radio for the longest time could do no wrong. Everything they touched was gold, a Midas touch that has sustained them for over decade. That is until their fifth studio album Seeds hit the shelves and the bottom fell out. From a sonic standpoint it is as lush and vibrant as any of their other works, but lyrically and conceptually it fails to move beyond one emotion.

The album is steeped in loss, effected no doubt by the death of Gerard Smith. But steep something for too long and the brew becomes too potent, one dimensional with no variation. To the point where it becomes bitter, counter effective even. Enough to where it leaves a noxious aftertaste seething in your belly.

The album stumbles out of the gate and is unable to achieve a cohesive stride. They dwell on one moment for too long and continue to make the same mistake over and over again, creating this awkward tension that is both self-indulgent and petty. There are no shortage of anthems, there’s just no personality in them. It’s a giant pity party full of half deflated balloons and sad clowns, the mark of a band on the decline.

What is it about bad relationships? Is it the forbidden nature or perhaps the desire to make right what went so horribly wrong? Anybody’s guess. So long as it inspires a sonic rainbow of sound then let it rain. The desire is there, and while it stings, the sweet melodies make it all worthwhile:

Laying it on thick, as saying goodbye is the hardest thing to do, which is why the backdrop is painted with such unforgiving landscapes. A lot of begging going on, a take it or leave it scenario - she’s choosing the latter. The weepy nature is a bit hard to stomach and makes for a sour conversation:

If it wasn’t obvious before then it is as clear as a cloudless sky now. Love is the driving force – the desire for it, the absence of it, and all the gobbledygook in between. The decree is lighter in this instance, the acoustics offering a bit of a reprise from their earlier, more desperate actions:

Fool in love or crazy obsession, the line is too fine to be mincing words. While the dedication is admirable, it’s beginning to enter stalker territory, a one dimensional take on love that adds nothing to the plot. There’s no personal touches and the weak instrumentation only adds to the drabness:

As test pilots, and a band that seems to be on a creative suicide mission, the hope is that they’ll fly right into the ground. Garishly sentimental, a mark of a band reaching its creative apex. Breaking up is a hard mountain to climb, but that doesn’t mean the topic should be beat to death:

More like love soiled, so much so that nothing can penetrate the wall of sap. It’s thick with emotion and sticky from all the gentle sobbing. Abstracting the message only makes it worse and a chore to decipher. its an endless waterfall of nacho cheese and there doesn’t seem to be an end in sight:

The end is near, it’ll be here any minute now - TVOTR are putting a frame around that light at the end of the tunnel. It’s motivated and inspired, but completely anthemic and void of any personal touches. Yet another song that embraces the commercial side of emotive writing. Not worth its namesake:

Took ‘em long enough but they finally turned that corner, saw the light, realized just how soft they were sounding. Not that they needed to come out guns blazing, but the fragile nature of the LP was getting uncomfortable. Dance the pain away is the theme, but at this point it’s too little too late:

Trying to twist the winter cold into something warm and inspiring is as about a big twist as you can expect from a LP that puts all its cards on the table from the jump. They’re happy now, jovial even, that the tide has shifted, for them at least. Not for the folks who wasted time hearing it happen:

Even in the outer reaches of deep space, they still can’t escape the poor showing that the first half of the album laid out. Maybe it’s the mundane riff they can’t seem to shake or the mild mannered writing that is about as edgy as a circle. Either way it’s a Challenger disaster waiting to happen:

The least annoying song thus far - a triumph for those who’ve stomached it this long. Keeping it simple and turning the corner earlier might have lent itself to a variety of other ways to tell the world you got dumped. Instead they stick one note, hold it, until you just can’t hear it anymore:

Just when you thought they couldn’t get any lower they start stalking family members. It’s melodramatic and overwrought with silly emotions. The premise, however, is full of potential and the seed analogy is compelling. But it’s too waterlogged with tears to make any meaningful difference:

Foo Fighters might be the modern era’s Rolling Stones. Their near two-decades nonstop commercial success makes them as close to an institutional dynasty as any rock band we’ve got. Red Hot Chili Peppers come close, but they had to completely compromise what caught the world’s attention in the first place – and while RHCP has the heroin-withdrawal-in-Cali shtick down, they don’t have the timeless anthems.

That, plus Dave Grohl’s universal likeability, has helped him grow from everyone’s favorite brother to everyone’s favorite uncle (and occasional grumpy grandpa, who chats with the president). Similarly, the band progressed from stadium-friendly rebellious teenage riot to today’s epitome of a rock-and-roll band. Unsurprisingly, that means that Sonic Highways doesn’t do much new musically or lyrically, but the project sees Grohl using his icon-clout to revitalize the studio recording industry through a documentary series. His output may water down in vigor, catchiness and lyrical cut over time, but gaddamn if we won’t still love him all the same. He’s got his rock-star tenure, celebrated here with an eighth album, composed of eight tracks recorded at eight different studios in eight different cities.

Grohl wants rock-and-roll to never die, but his hopes for a “monument” not only hint at the movement’s burial, but actually play a hand in it. If punk-bred rock is non-conformist David against society’s Goliath, then who cares about legacies? This one was recorded in Grohl’s native D.C.: [LISTEN]

Dave “the nicest guy in rock” Grohl finds spiritual fellowship in musical camaraderie here. His output may have faded into what it is today – the most milquetoast of radio rock – but it also revitalizes studios like Southern Ground in Nashville, where this was recorded: [LISTEN]

L.A. inspires Dave to “get outside,” as well as cop a driving desert-rock vibe, albeit one very Foo Fighters-y sheen. The Foo formulas are stronger than the tumbleweed influence, but you still get the picture. Grohl’s “leave it all behind”/’on-the-run jam was recorded at Rancho De La Luna:

N’awlins means brass, tuba included. This ain’t a lyrically adept track by any means, but the Preservation Hall Jazz Band collaboration helps emphasize what this whole album really is – a celebration of live music, recorded musical performances, and ‘Murica’s music:

Ugh. Grohl reduces Seattle to a gloomy, “subterranean” stereotype that loves its self-righteous sensitivity as much as its gratuitous Ben Gibbard guest appearances. Way to waste an opportunity to pummel the walls with sound at Robert Lang’s beautiful studio (like Nirvana did back in the day):

NYC is not a place of dreamy, “love”-infused and ethereal guitar lines a la SDRE, so I don’t know what part of town inspired Grohl on this one. NYC is a hustling/bustling metropolis that smells like shit, but this sounds like an enlightening hike through nature – you know, in a place like the PNW: